


Piano Wire

by purecamp



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-20
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2019-01-20 10:24:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12430815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purecamp/pseuds/purecamp
Summary: a dark sided piece based off of sharon’s song “piano wire” in which aaron is a murderer





	Piano Wire

**Author's Note:**

> A/N - Wick: heck, it was about time these two collab’d? What better way to do it than use Piano Wire for it, because fucked up brains write fucked up things, I guess. I’m sure Camp will elaborate… but ehm, when I say this is fucked up, it is. I mean, read the TW’s in the next bit and if you’re not in a good spot, just please, don’t read it.
> 
> Purecamp: welcome to the fuckedt up piano wire fic! We’ve only been told to collab since last christmas, and u asked for angst… we gave u death. Major tw - murder, blood, knives, strangulation etc etc etc… plz dont read if ur weak-minded i dont wanna upset anybody :(
> 
> ^^ this is the artificialqueens a/n that i wrote at the time. this was written and posted oct 7th 2017

It had all started with that sensual gaze, those deep blue eyes that resembled the moon reflecting off the surface of the ocean. Then it was a date, slow sips of red wine and gentle chatter from everyone around them, and then it was a surprise which Aaron refused to reveal.

He’d fallen silent a short while ago, his eyes focused on the road and his knuckles gleaming pure white under the street lights that lit up the way. He had seemed tense, holding onto the wheel as tight as he could, but it might have been the lights playing tricks. The vehicle swallowed up the road quickly as he sped up. At the time, it hadn’t seemed suspicious that no one else was on the road. It hadn’t seemed suspicious that there wasn’t anybody anywhere. Despite the lights, not a single soul could be seen. No birds flew overhead, no pigeons pecked at filthy remains of past lunches.

The car stopped and Aaron got out. Like a gentleman, he held the door open for his companion. He didn’t speak a word and nothing in his expression indicated that he wanted to be followed, but somehow it was clear that he did. Still nothing was said when he pulled a large key from his suit pocket, unlocked the door to an abandoned warehouse at the outskirts of the city, and entered.

“This is my favourite place, doll.” He announced, his voice low and rasping. “My dirty secret.”

Dirty was the right word. Secret, too. The place was empty, devoid of all colour and life. Around the edges, in every corner, dust and cobwebs served as the decorations - a stark contrast to Aaron’s sharp suit and pristine shoes. Only the centre of the room was clean; the floor was so polished it glistened. A light flickered overhead, and the place looked like one of those ghastly scenes in horror clichés that were rerun on television during Halloween season. It made the moment feel surreal. Worry began to mount, as the door closed behind them with a loud creak and a bang. Still no questions were asked. As if there was an unspoken rule in place the silence stayed unbroken until he spoke up again.

“I know it isn’t much yet,” Aaron said, a hint of excited teasing underpinning his words. “But trust me, in about sixty seconds, it’ll look much prettier.”

Sixty seconds? What was he talking about? Under the moonlight, the white that shone through a small window at the top of the warehouse and onto Aaron, he looked dangerous. His features were handsome, his personality was charming, and now the two of them were in a warehouse to which only Aaron had the key. Now at unease, he started wringing his hands - they felt weird, almost puffy, like they weren’t his own. Confused, he blinked and then Aaron was gone out of his line of view.

It was like the room had started to close in on him, getting smaller. Black spots started fading in and out of view. The room tilted, then spun, then caused more black spots to come in and out. There must’ve been some kind of poison in that wine. Whatever it was, it caused a feeling of intense dizziness… nausea… and then nothing.

He remembered his head hitting the floor with an almighty crack, and then nothing until his eyes suddenly snapped open again. At the far end of the room, lit up by one single candle, Aaron was playing a sinister melody on a piano. Had that always been there? As soon as the question came to mind it vanished, as shivers began to run down his spine from the music. The instrument was playing off-key, low melancholy chords that hurt his ears. There was a sharp pain in the back of his head, the room continued to spin and the music exacerbated his growing fear.

Upon spotting that he had awoken, Aaron began to slowly approach. A sudden flare of panic seized his chest, and he tried to run - only then noticing that there were ropes around him, binding him to a metal chair that kept him from running. They chafed his ankles, his chest, his wrists, rubbing the skin raw as he strained to escape. His struggle was to no avail. Aaron was getting closer and closer to him and there was nothing he can do about it.

Distracted by trying to break free from his confinement, he failed to notice Aaron coming to a halt in front of him. He’d just been watching him, the corners of his mouth turned up into a small smile as he watched him try to get loose. There was something strangely endearing about him and yet, all of it felt terribly wrong. Aaron smirked, and the fear increased. It didn’t just feel wrong, no, it was wrong.

One of Aaron’s hands came to rest on the nape of his neck, the other finding its way to his inner thigh, gently caressing. He leaned in, their faces only mere inches apart. His panicked breath was warm against Aaron’s pale face, who simply snickered. He couldn’t wait until that breath was no more. Those pouting, trembling lips, those wide eyes looking up at him with fear, pleading for freedom he wouldn’t receive.

Aaron was playing his favourite game. For a second, he disappeared out of view, surveying his new victim with pursed lips and a keen, cold eye. The only sound in the quiet was his precise steps and the other’s panicked breathing. Everything was perfectly morbid, and it made him grotesquely happy. It was exciting, really. There was so much to do. So, he decided to begin soon.

He returned into his victim’s limited scope of vision again, holding a long, sharp blade in his elegant hands. It was like an everyday kitchen knife but sharper, like butcher’s blade, glinting dangerously.

“Doesn’t this place look so… drab?” Aaron whispered, pressing his lips directly against his victim’s ear. He shuddered at the feeling of Aaron’s breath. “Don’t you think it could use some colour?”

He slowly began to drag the cold flat of the blade against the victim’s neck, grinning as he winced from the cool metal on his flushed skin.

“Why is everything important in your neck?” He drawled. “Think about it… all those veins… thick arteries pumped full of your blood… red is a beautiful colour, don’t you think?”

Paralysed with fear, the victim tried to nod. “Y-Yes-”

Aaron cut him off with a slap. “Did I say you could speak?” He snarled, his voice soft but impossibly harsh.

Silence.

“Good boy.” Aaron praised him. “You’re learning. Oh, but there’s endless possibilities… a hundred ways to kill you…”

Aaron’s eyes were gleaming, filled with malicious intent. “Strangulation always causes the prettiest bruises. Shades of purple I could never find in a store. Would you prefer a rope, or my hands?”

He laughed - properly laughed. “Personally, I like hands… like to feel the blood vessels bursting from the pressure, watching closely how your eyes pop and your skin pales and your throat fills with blood…”

“Gurgling is just breathing with texture.” He whispered. “They never get the blood right in the movies.”

Throughout his pondering, Aaron played with the knife, toying it between his fingers as though it were a pretty plaything he was used to handling. Seeing him now, jaded and evil, it made sense that perhaps he was.

“I think we should go with my favourite method…” Aaron decided suddenly, pulling a tie from his pocket. “But first, you’re being gagged. There’s nothing I hate more than when they scream. Pathetic. Pitiful.”

Before any protests could be verbalised, the material was roughly shoved into his mouth, Aaron’s skilled fingers tying a tight knot that cut into his cheeks. With the blade still in his left hand, the victim could feel the metal pressing against the back of his neck, until Aaron drew back and started playing with it once again.

“I have to admit… the first cut is the hardest. But after that, I really can no longer claim my soul is my own.”

He leaned in close. This time, the sharp edge of the knife was pressed against his neck, but lightly enough that no marks were made. “It’s as if I’ve done this before.”

It was like a needle prick but harsher, more painful. The movement of the knife was swift and precise, only lasting a second. The cut wasn’t deep at all but still managed to draw out so much, like pain, which lasted even after the knife had gone. Blood, beautiful liquid velvet red, trickled down his throat. It was instantly soaked up by his clothes and behind him, Aaron sounded everything but pleased. The flow of his work ruined by something manmade.

He felt the cold of the blade underneath his shirt, teasing his skin again. Instinctively he shut his eyes tightly, expecting more suffering, but he was somehow spared of all that. There’s a loud tear. The back of his shirt had been cut in half, cold air now gripping a hold of him.

Realising rather quickly where this was going, he tried to free himself once more, survival instincts kicking in. However, he stilled instantly when the tips of Aaron’s fingers traced the soft flesh of his back, all the way up his spine, hand resting on his shoulder. For a second the touch of the knife vanished, and was soon replaced by a second hand.

If it weren’t for the current situation, it could have easily been a romantic gesture. But it wasn’t. Though, maybe this was his version of it. Only whatever God was out there knew what went on in the back of Aaron’s mind as he did these things. No one would ever know, and those who did would never speak of it, simply because they couldn’t. He had taken care of everything. It was all under his control, just like his hands.

They had found their way around his neck, fingers stained red and knuckles white. His grin went unseen as he leaned in, and listened attentively to the struggle for air. Sometimes he would release the pressure, barely letting his prey catch his breath before squeezing down again. The skin underneath his fingers had long-since grayed out, greens and purples replacing the lively pink.

For Aaron it never seemed to last long enough, this was something he could spend an eternity doing and never get bored of. For his victim, it dragged on too long. Specks of black danced in the corners of his vision and his eyes rolled back into the back of his head. The grip he had on the armrests that he was tied to, lessened.

Aaron hummed as he tilted his head and watched him with intrigue. With his hands behind his back, he stalked back around. He went through his knees and tilted his head up, meeting his eyes.

“I love your eyes so wide with fear,” he spoke, amused. There was a dark tinge to the tone of his voice, it was lower than usual. “They’re even wider with no face. I wonder, what your skin would look like on me.”

It was sadistic, it was sickening, it was inhumane how much Aaron enjoyed it. An entire life was in his hands, fragile like a ragdoll that he could simply tear apart. The thought of dolls took him back several years, of being but a small baby tearing his toys apart. Oh, what a gloriously deceitful monster he’d become. His mind wandered, imagining his victim when he was much younger.

“You must’ve been a beautiful baby,” he sang, taking his knife to press it slowly into the taut skin of his neck again. He hummed with pleasure as the beads of blood slowly started to grow, until they ran sluggishly down his white shirt and even stained Aaron’s suit.

Aaron brought his head close to the chest, both of his hands positioned either side of his new toy to ensure he stayed upright. Thump, thump, thump. The heartbeat was weak, but it was still there. That wouldn’t do at all.

Taking his time to ensure he savoured every last moment of the gore, Aaron ripped each remaining button from his victim’s shirt, one by one, until his whole chest was exposed to the chilling air of his warehouse.

“Look at you…” He murmured, his eyes laser-focused on the goosebumps rising on his skin. “So pretty… so pure…”

He dragged his teeth from the top of the chest to the stomach, scraping across the skin until he was satisfied with the slight trails he’d left behind.

“Now,” Aaron told him, “To make you even prettier. This room just isn’t… colourful enough. Your insides are a rainbow.”

He had already spent years decorating this place and would sometimes, unhappy with the result, clean up everything until even the dust was gone and the rust was off the metal. He was almost like an artist, painting on a canvas and going over it with white if he wasn’t satisfied. The process of it was always different, he was always trying something new. He grinned, reminded of the last time he’d been in this position with a young ditzy blonde who had been more than compliant until she’d realised what he was up to. The panic in her big eyes and her sweet blood was something he would never forget. If she hadn’t been a screamer, it would’ve been the perfect kill. But his one was proving incredibly satisfactory too.

“Smiling is so easy.” He moved to pick up the knife from the ground, and brought it up the man’s cheek, tapping the tip against his skin repeatedly. He stilled. “Yet, removing it proves to be difficult.”

“I’m sure I can still try, though.” He reasoned aloud. “I have all the time in the world… unlike you. All that blood of yours, spilling out between the gaps in my fingers. I don’t mind the mess.”

When he received no reply other than a slight twitch he cocked his eyebrow and pressed the tip of the blade into the skin of his cheeks. Bloody tears were a common sight, a result of having grown up on horror flicks and a bad reputation. He did it better than the movies, he thought. He did it prettier too, only he could create a colour this beautiful, this red.

At long last, that sound came, and it was like music to Aaron’s ears. First the gargling, the sound of blood filling lungs and struggling to supply oxygen, then the death rattle in the chest. Almost in slow motion, the victim slumped, his body losing all tension. One last, shuddered breath escaped from his lips, and Aaron stepped back.

“So many beautiful ways to destroy you… you were destroyed so beautifully. How easy the knife went in. How quickly you succumbed to me. Not a scream, not a moan, just those beautiful little whimpers. I’m sure you’ll be missed by somebody… such a shame they’ll never find your beautiful body.”


End file.
